Hotch's Dark Eyed Obsession
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: Hotch's late night thoughts...H/P because that's all I seem to write these days. Please review...Complete oneshot


(Ok, here I've written yet another H/P story, another one shot that takes place approximately 11 days after the season finale. It is part of my universe where Hotch decides he wants Emily and he goes for it…hell, why not? This is fanfiction, after all…It goes with my stories and touches briefly on two stories directly "Horror Movies, Statistics, and Lifetime," and "Now and Forever". They are not critical to understanding this story, but it might explain a few things. The correct reading order: "Horror Movies, Statistics, and A Lifetime", "Now and Forever", "Emily's Mr. Right", "A Dark-eyed Obsession", "Apocalypse Now" (which I am posting shortly, in part—it's not finished yet,) "Super Hero Family"--which takes place during Apocalypse, and "Hope"—which is also not finished. I'll probably be adding various other case fics or oneshots as well. Please review and let me know what you think…)

A DARK EYED OBSESSION

Hotch lay in his hotel room, alone and isolated. He looked at the room's second bed and thought briefly about the man who would have been occupying it. It had only been ten days since Rossi's SUV had exploded, but the man had a hopeful prognosis.

That wasn't why Aaron Hotchner lay awake at three a.m. though.

Dreams were what was keeping him awake. He'd had the most erotic, most sexually-fulfilling dream of his life. And it didn't feature his ex-wife for even a second.

No, all he could remember was dark eyes staring up at him, skin so soft and sweet smelling, lips as ripe as the strawberries he thought of whenever he stepped close enough to touch her, to smell her—to _breathe _her. No, Aaron Hotchner hadn't dreamt of his ex-wife, or of the woman who looked much like her. He'd had a flaming hot wet dream about his subordinate. A dream so hot his mattress was soaking wet from his sweat and he was seriously contemplating taking a very early shower—a cold shower—before crashing on the other, fresh mattress.

His body still trembled from the dream, from the things he'd done to her, from the things she'd done to him.

Things he'd never even thought to try in his twenty years of marriage to the prim and proper Hayley. Things he'd never wanted to. But now all he could think about was doing those things with the dark-haired, dark-eyed, sweet scented agent lying in the next hotel room.

He wondered briefly what she was dreaming about. He wondered even longer on what she might be wearing. Wondered how it would be to wake up and find her in _his _hotel room instead of the one she was sharing with JJ. He wondered what he'd do if she came to him.

Wondered what he would do first. What she would _let _him do first. Would he kiss first? Drop quick little caresses on her lips, her cheeks, her neck? She wasn't entirely comfortable with herself, he'd noticed that often, so he'd have to get her to relax. Maybe by stroking her like a cat, one hand lazily running up her arm, down her back, over her ass and around her hip. Then back up again. And doing it again, while removing whatever thin material seperated him from her soft, sweet body.

Maybe she'd like something a little swifter. Maybe he'd tangle one hand in the dark hair she'd taken to curling more often. Maybe tilt her head back so he could look down into those dark eyes, as he pulled her body tightly to his. Maybe he'd bend down and run his tongue over the smooth skin of her neck, see what that part of her smelled like. Would she smell like strawberries there? Or warm vanilla cream? What would she smell like on other parts of that body?

Maybe she'd be wearing that red tank top she favored. He favored it, too. The way it fit her so closely, the way it left all that milk smooth skin exposed. The way he could watch the smooth muscles of her arms as they worked. The woman certainly was fit, and he knew she'd fit against him perfectly. Curve in all the right places. Maybe she'd be wearing that red tank top and little red panties to match. Panties he'd remove quickly--leaving the shirt on, to fulfill just one of his fantasies.

His body was tensing and he struggled to compose himself. He—who never lost control, who'd mastered the art of showing no emotion as a young boy helpless beneath his father's belt—struggled to get inappropriate thoughts out of his mind. It was almost unbelievable.

But this wasn't the first time he'd obsessed over Emily Prentiss long into the night. It was the fourteenth to be exact.

Three days before Rossi'd been injured had found the team stuck in an empty hay barn for the night, and _he'd _ended up sleeping next to Emily. Ended up waking with her held tight in his arms, her lithe body pressed tight against his, as she fought to escape the early dawn chill. Ended up feeling her every breath as it pressed her chest against his.

Rossi's words of a few days later brushed through Hotch's mind, "Do you know what I wouldn't give for a woman who actually understood what we did every day? And you've got one right there in front of you! One who's sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving—who is virtually crying out for a special kind of man."

As his friend lay injured later that very night, Hotch had sat and held the woman in question against his chest while she cried. He'd understood then what Rossi had meant when he said he'd be lucky to have a woman like Emily, and to take every minute, every moment, with her and treasure it.

Every night since then he'd laid awake listing the myriad ways he would treasure her, if she'd let him. Gawd, he wished she wo,uld let him. Let him do all those things to her, and more. Just dive into her after a rough case, pounding it out of his body in the most primal way he knew how, feeling her below him, taking everything he had to give, both light and dark. The way he so longed to do.

The way Hayley would never let him.

Emily was sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving, and his body was crying out for her. It was almost as if he—the man who'd written the book on the subject—was forming an obsession.

For the dark-eyed woman he'd never wanted in the BAU to begin with.


End file.
